The 1428 Diaries
by BiteMeTechie
Summary: The house of 1428 has many secrets. A shoebox that contains a forgotten diary hidden under one of the floorboards in the attic is only one of them. Follow a regular girl's slow descent into madness courtesy of Fred Krueger. Now complete with happy ending!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This story was originally written as an exercise in trying to subvert tropes. At the time of its writing, many of the OCs that were running around the fandom were obsessed with Freddy, they wound up with him in the end and they were all gorgeous with angst as their primary character trait. After a while, I got to thinking it'd be fun to try not to play into those tropes. Its original intention was to be a slow, realistic-ish descent into obsession. I have no idea if I think it succeeded, but it was fun, at any rate.  
_

* * *

Wednesday, August 2nd

New house, new state, new diary!

Alright, so maybe using an exclamation point in that last sentence was overkill, but I have to at least pretend to be excited, don't I?

Besides, maybe if I pretend hard enough, I'll actually get excited. Anything is worth a shot at this point.

Now, don't get me wrong, it's not that I dislike Ohio or anything, I just liked Michigan better. If mom didn't have to move for work, I would have refused to leave.

I guess I should be thankful, though. After all, at least we're still pretty close. It could have been much, much worse. We could have had to move to New York or someplace equally ooky.

At least this way I've got a little hope that some of my friends from MI can come down to visit me sometime. I mean, they won't, but at least they've got the option, right?

And the new house is nice, if a little suburby to my tastes. I think that's the one problem I've got with Springwood so far. Everything about it just screams 'Small Town'. You know they're actually got a drive-in theatre here? And it's still operational. I thought those went out with disco.

I got to meet our new neighbors today when we pulled up to the house too. It seems that both families (the Smiths and the Jones' if you can believe that) on either side of us moved in around the same time last year. That seems to be something of a trend on Elm Street. Everyone who lives here hasn't been here very long.

Angela (lives at 1426) told me that a couple of years back there was just a rash of people who decided to move all of the sudden. A bunch of them left when the old power plant went under and was shut down, she said. I guess they must've lost their jobs and couldn't find new ones in town.

Yikes. I'm yawning and it isn't even five o'clock yet. I've got a load of unpacking to do still, so I'll pick up later.

Thursday, August 10th

Eight days in the new house and I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever get everything unpacked. I'm living in a sea of cardboard and bubble paper that seems to be getting deeper and deeper instead of smaller like it's supposed to.

I have accomplished something, though. All my books are unpacked and set up in their proper places in my bookshelf (if you can call two of those blue milk crates stacked on top of each other a bookshelf).

I have to admit, it's nice to have a bedroom that's this big. It's twice the size of my old one, and it doesn't feel like the walls are closing in anymore. There's only one problem, it's cold. Well, not the whole room, just one corner is cold. Like, refrigeration unit cold. I think there must be some kind of draft coming from the window on that wall.

Mom said she's going to call a contractor to come take a look at it, but I told her not to bother. I'll just hang up some heavy duty curtains, that should take care of the problem quite nicely. Plus, it's an excuse to get some new curtains. My old strawberry colored ones just aren't cutting it anymore, so we're going to drive up to the mall (can you believe the nearest mall is thirty miles away? How do these people live?) next week when everything's unpacked and pick up some stuff for the house and some new school clothes for me.

My last really good pair of jeans managed to get one of the knees torn out when I snagged them on the door of the U-Haul, so that's one thing I've gotta get. Maybe I can convince mom to buy me a cell phone finally too...after all, we're in a strange place and I don't know anyone here. Anything could happen.

Wow, I just glanced at the clock, it's almost three...I should hit the sack.

Friday, August 18th

Ran into the cutest guy at the mall today.

No, literally...ran into him. I wasn't looking where I was going (staring at a window display and walking at the same time, actually) and I slammed into him. I spilled my extra large Orange Julius all over both of us.

And my shopping bags.

And his.

And all over the floor.

I've never been so mortified in my entire life.

After I babbled at him for a couple of minutes (I have no idea what exactly I was saying, but I'm pretty sure I was apologizing again and again) I turned eight different shades of red and fled.

I'm now hiding out in the car in the parking lot, waiting for mom to finish her shopping. I hope she hurries up, I want to get out of here!

Oh God, I just had a horrible thought. If he comes out of the mall, I'm going to have to duck down in the floorboard to avoid being seen. I am SUCH a spaz!

I don't think this is a good omen for the upcoming school year, do you?

God, please don't let me make an idiot of myself. The last thing I need is a reputation for being a spastic idiot.

I mean, I am a spastic idiot, but that doesn't mean the rest of the world has to know, right?

Yeah, it can be our little secret.

And the day had begun so well too!

I found some really great clothes and I actually convinced mom to get me a cell phone. It's not a really expensive one or anything, but it serves it's purpose and I've got a bright purple face plate for it. Plus I picked up all my school supplies and stuff, so I'm pretty happy aside from the whole Orange Julius spillage debacle.

School starts September first, and I'm just praying it's not a complete disaster. But the way things are going, that might be setting the bar a bit too high.

Mom's here, pick up later.


	2. Chapter 2

Sunday, September 3rd

Well, as first days of school go, it could have been worse. Not by much, mind, but I can take comfort in the fact that somewhere, someone had a worse first day of school. Probably someone in a third world country whose first day involved a nuclear explosion, but still...

So, where to begin?

At the beginning, I should think.

I got to school twenty minutes late and then, to add insult to injury, I got lost on my way to the office. Then again, it wouldn't be me if I didn't.

Then my locker combination didn't work and I had to go back to the office to get a new locker assignment.

I should have taken these events as a cosmic hint that the day was going to be a disaster, but being the fool that I am, I decided to be optimistic.

Fat lot of good that did me.

I managed to get a detention by the end of first period for passing notes, too.

The thing of it is, I didn't.

Someone tossed a piece of folder in my general direction, which landed on my desk. The English teacher, Miss Fowley, saw it, and decided that giving out a detention on the first day of school would work as a deterrent to other would-be rule breakers. It just happened to be me this time around.

Miss Fowley is one of those stern, strict, British types who warns you not to cross her or else feel her wrath. I don't like her.

My history teacher Miss Fern is nice though. In fact, she was the one highlight of the day. She's pretty young for a teacher, like in her early twenties, and she's really funny.

The only down side to being in her class in that I was seated across from Orange Julius, alias Clark Thomas. You remember him, right? The guy I douse with my drink at the mall? Yeah, that's him.

He went out of his way to be nice to me, which went over real big with his girlfriend, who threatened to hand me my spleen in study hall if I tried making any moves on her main squeeze.

It's nice to know that bitchy popular girls are the same no matter where you go, I guess.

Anyways, it's getting close to dinner time, so I'm going to go wash up and stuff.

-

Tuesday, September 5th

It's starting to look like life in Springwood may not be a total waste after all. I managed to make a friend today. Well, maybe I wouldn't go so far as to call her a friend, yet, but I made an acquaintance, at least.

Remember the girl whose note passing I got in trouble for? She came up to me today and apologized profusely for getting me a detention. It seems she was throwing the note back at the guy who wrote it to her and stuck it on her desk. Apparently, he's an ex boyfriend who's trying to get back in her good graces but she's not having any of it, hence the note throwing.

Anyways, her name is Leah Drason and she seems nice enough. After apologizing and introducing herself to me, she sat down with me at lunch and we chatted for a bit. What little I know about her leads me to believe she's totally my polar opposite. She skates by with Cs and Ds, parties a lot, and is brash and extremely abrasive. She seems to have a core of niceness though that makes her extremely likeable. Who knows? This could be the start of a beautiful friendship.

-

Thursday, September 7th

Miss Fern has given us a year long history project. We have to pick a person, place or event and spend the whole year researching it. Then at the academic fair next May, we each have to do a big presentation in front of everyone. She's giving us two weeks to decide what subject we want to tackle.

She said she's giving us that much time because this is something we're going to have to eat, sleep and breathe for the next eight months and it counts for half of our final grade. We've got to be sure that this is what we really want to work on.

So, I have two whole weeks to figure out what I want to do and I haven't the foggiest notion of where to start.

I mean, I have no idea what to do!

Well, that's not entirely true. I know what I don't want to do.

I like Miss Fern and I'd like to make a good impression on her by picking something no one else has thought of. I heard some of the girls in my class talking about what they were planning to do. There was lots of talk about the sinking of the Titanic, the civil war (remind me again, how can war be civil?) and the English regency.

In other words, anything they could rent a movie about.

Is it just me, or does that sound like copping out and taking the lazy route?

I want to do something that'll take a little more work than that, you know what I mean? Anyone can go rent a bunch of movies and glimpse at Wikipedia before tossing together a half assed report. I don't want to do that.

I mean, this is half of my total grade and since history is one of the subjects I count on to keep my grade point average at a decent level, I can't afford to mess this up.

I think I'll ask around a bit, find out what everyone else is doing before I decide for sure.

-

Monday, September 18th

Alright, after doing quite a bit of recon, I have a pretty good idea of what the general population at Springwood High is going to be doing for their history reports.

Or at least the people in my class.

There's six students who're working on pieces about the Vietnam war, one each working on the assassination of JFK, the Salem with trials, the civil rights movement and Victorian era England. There's also a small clique of girls working on pieces that center around Johnny Depp...how they're going to sell that as historically relevant, I have no idea, but they're gonna try.

The resident goth girl with too much product in her hair is working on the history of serial killers (which takes out my hopes of covering the White Chapel Committee) and finally, Clark is doing the history of comic books.

Not that I noticed.

Shut up, I didn't notice.

He's dating the head cheerleader anyway, so even if I did notice, it's not like it'll matter in the long run.

Where was I?

Oh right. The hopelessness of trying to find a decent report topic that no one's thought of.

I got nothing.

I've been trying to think of something and I can't come up with anything that's anywhere near original enough to be an acceptable option. Maybe I'm thinking about this too much. Maybe if I stop worrying about it and obsess over something else, the answer will come to me.

I think I'll go for a walk, maybe hit the library and pick up something to read...that usually helps clear my head somewhat.

A walk over to Leah's place might be good too...her mom's giving her a hard time about flunking Social Studies, and she asked me to help her out...I'll go do that. 


	3. Chapter 3

Tuesday, September 19th

I hereby take back every nasty thing I ever said or thought about Terry (the 'resident goth girl'). I met her in the cemetery (I'll explain in a minute) and found out she's totally not what I expected. She's actually really cool. A little coarse around the edges (she swear a lot) but that's ok.

When I decided to go for a walk yesterday, I got turned around somehow (my amazing sense of direction at work) and wound up in the cemetery.

Terry was hanging out there (I didn't ask why, I don't want to know) and we got to talking. If you can get back the mask of heavy black make-up, there's a really funny, smart and witty (if a bit sarcastic) person underneath.

When I first saw her and she saw me, I floundered for a few minutes because I couldn't figure out what to say to her. Finally, I told her that I'd heard about her history project and that opened up a conversation.

It turns out she's not doing the piece on serial killers because she's obsessed with them (as I was led to believe), she's doing it because she's interested in the psychology behind socio and psychopathic behaviors. She wants to go to college to study abnormal psychology and she figures the best subjects to start with are the most extreme cases. She wants to learn what makes these guys tick.

I wish I could come up with some deep reason for my report like that, but sadly I'm no closer to finding a research topic today than I was yesterday.

On an unrelated note: Springwood cemetery is a really interesting place. There's a section that's really, really old headstones from like the eighteen hundreds. Terry showed it to me. There's also a whole slew of graves that belong to people my age and younger who died over the past forty years or so.

When I noticed that a bunch of the dates of death were close together to Terry, she told me that there was a contagious virus that broke out and seemed to be focused on people under twenty in the area.

The virus was eventually contained and they found a cure, but for a lot of people it was too late. She said that the virus, coupled with the power plant shutting down, was the reason a lot of people moved out of Springwood. Many families lost children and they just couldn't bear to stay.

That's really sad, so many young kids dying all at once. I can't imagine how horrible that must have been. I wonder what kind of virus it was? Like the influenza pandemic at the turn of the twentieth century... I bet there was lots of news coverage about it when it happened too. Kinda strange that I never heard of it...

Oh wait, I was just a kid when the virus was at it's peak. Didn't watch the news back then. Huh.

Well, I have work to do (must find the ever elusive study topic!) so I'll pick up later/

-

Friday, September 22nd

Well, yesterday was the moment of truth. Miss Fern asked us all what we wanted to do for our history projects. I still didn't have a clue what I was going to do when she called my name, so I panicked and blurted out the first thing that popped into my head.

The history of Springwood.

I guess I still had the visit to the cemetery on the brain, because that's all I could think of.

A bunch of people snickered and some clown in the back shouted 'BORING!' but Miss Fern seemed pleased. She asked why I chose that as my topic and I said that since I was new here, it'd be interesting to know all about my new adopted home town. It's a good thing I can think on my feet, or else I'd have been in hot water. Can you imagine what would have happened if I had froze and said I didn't have a topic yet?

Anyways, that's what I ended up with and I actually got my wish: no one else in my class chose Springwood as their subject.

There was one strange thing that happened, though. When Terry told what she was going to do, Miss Fern's face kinda went all tight for a second and then she started asking which serial killers she was planning on centering her report around. When she listed Gein, Dahmer, Bathory and Vlad the impaler, Miss Fern asked if that was all.

Terry looked at her weird and asked 'Isn't that enough?'

Which, I've gotta admit, is exactly what I was thinking.

Miss Fern looked really relieved and then moved on. Weird, right?

Anyways...I have a science project to finish.

-

Sunday, October 1st

What have I gotten myself into? You would think that doing a history report on my new home town would be easy as pie.

Yeah well, you'd be wrong.

I've found this fact out the hard way.

See, there are quite a lot of holes in the history of Springwood, Ohio. Some chunks of time that are just missing and that bothers me. Chunks of time like half of the sixties, eighties and nineties, for instance.

I just spent all day in the newspaper archives at the library and all I've got to go on are a handful of weather reports and movie reviews from the Springwood Sentinel.

Ron, one of the librarians (short, glasses, has a ponytail...ugh) told me that a lot of the archives took water damaged when the basement (where the papers are housed) flooded a few years back and that's why there are whole years worth of papers missing. They got wet and mildewy and had to be thrown away.

This sucks for me, of course, because that's about thirty years worth of stuff that I have to track down some other way to complete my project.

So far, my report on Springwood after nineteen sixty reads thusly:

Top Gun was the top grossing movie of nineteen eighty six and there's a thirty percent chance of rain on Tuesday.

God, at this rate, I'm going to get an F for sure.

There was one good thing about going to the library today, I found out they're looking for a new librarian. Not the most glamorous job in the world, but it pays the same as working at any of the lame burger joints around here, plus it's within walking distance and I'll have unlimited access to any research materials I need...so it sounds like a good deal to me. I'm going to put in my application tomorrow. 


	4. Chapter 4

Monday, October 9th

Has it been a good day?

Yes...yes it has.

By my standards, anyway.

This morning in science got paired with Clark Thomas for an experiment. His significant other wasn't very happy about it, but I was.

Diary, that boy has a smile that could level a roomful of teenage girls in seconds flat. I, as a member of the teenage girl demographic, can attest to that fact.

He grinned at me over the Bunsen burner and I got woozy. Plus, he's really devastatingly smart. I could just sit around and listen to him talk for hours.

After science class was over though, I had to let him go back to Amber (yeach). It's not fair that the pretty blondes always get the cute guys. Maybe I should ask Leah about it...she's a blonde, she'll know.

Hm. Maybe I should bleach my hair?

Nah...with my luck, it'd turn green or something. I'll stick with being a brunette for now.

Which reminds me: I have to go poke around in the attic for my white wig. Halloween is approaching and there's a carnival/dance of sorts being held at school. If I can find it, I can wear the same costume I wore last year. That black dress and the white wig should make a passable costume, I should think.

I can be 'if Lady Death and Elvira had a love child'.

I wonder if I still have those weirdo green contact lenses lying around somewhere...hm...have to check.

Well, either way, my hand is getting tired. Andie out.

-

Thursday, October 12th

Dad called today. Apparently, I've been in Ohio for two months and he just noticed I'm gone. Gee, thanks dad. So nice to know you miss me.

He said he's sending me some money for my birthday, but we all know how that's going to turn out.

Ugh. I don't even want to think about him right now.

Shoot. My hand is bleeding again.

Alright, now that that's taken care of...

Great, now there's blood spatter on my diary page...looks like it belongs at a crime scene or something. Yeesh. Well, I suppose I'd better explain.

I went up to the attic today to look for my Halloween costume (found it, by the way) and I tripped and fell on a box of Christmas ornaments. Sliced my hand open pretty good on one of the when I went down.

The attic is partially carpeted, you see, and there's an uneven lump where it's trying to peel away from the wall. Me being the talented creature that I am, I managed to get my foot hung up on it and down I went. Remind me to go get the staple gun out of the garage and fix it later.

I'd fix it now, except my knees are pretty bruised up from it as well. In fact, I think it's about time to get some more Tylenol.

Terry's coming over later tonight and we're going to do our homework together. She's a math whiz, apparently (certainly wouldn't know it to look at her) so she's going to do-I mean...help me do my algebra homework and I'm going to help her with her book report since I've read Pride and Prejudice already.

-

Friday, October 20th

Wow. It seems like an age since I've written in you, diary. I have a good excuse, though. I have a job! That's right, I'm a librarian now.

Ok, so maybe that's not much to get excited about, but I'm still thrilled. I work every afternoon from four to eight and I'm getting five bucks an hour after taxes. Plus I've convinced the head librarian Mrs. Morrison (she's like a manager, almost) to let me stay after work and do research for school. So, every Monday and Wednesday, I've got complete run of the joint. You know that there are parts of the building that no one ever uses? At least it seems that way...

There's a section waaaaay in the back that's full of high school yearbooks and school newsletters and stuff that's got a coat of dust on it a quarter of an inch thick. I guess no one ever gets nostalgic for their high school years around here. I'm going to have to look through some of those volumes sometime. I'm curious as to what my teachers looked like back in their heyday. I can only imagine what Mrs. Morrison looked like. I wonder how old she is? Must be seventy at least...

Anyways...Leah is taking me out tonight, there's a party over at Chris Nelson's house 'cause his parents are out of town. Leah said knowing Chris, it'll be (and I quote) 'the social event of the season'.

I take that to mean there'll be booze and drugs spread as far as the eye can see.

I'm just going 'cause Leah's dragging me along. I'm supposed to defend her honor, she said.

I take that incessant honking to mean she's arrived. Catch ya later.

-

Wednesday, October 25th

I get my first paycheck in two days and by my count, I've got two hundred dollars coming my way. I already know what I'm going to do with it too. I'm going to get a new winter coat (the old one is looking quite threadbare in places) and some new CDs.

Leah's picking me up on Friday night and we're going to go get Terry and then hit the mall.

It's weird that I've never hung out with both of them at the same time. I sure hope they'll get along ok. I don't know if they know each other already or not. I mean, I always hang out with them individually...it never occurred to me that they might not get along together. Boy, that would suck if they don't. I don't think I could pick one over the other.

What else? There must be something...

Oh! I've fleshed out the outline for my history project pretty well and I've already finished the parts on the founding of Springwood. I've also got most of eighteen ninety through the nineteen twenties done. Apparently Springwood was a hide out for several notorious gangsters throughout the prohibition years. It's fascinating really.

I called up the Springwood Sentinel earlier and asked if I could come in and have a looked at their archives on Saturday, and after a lot of begging, pleading and cajoling, I convinced the guy to let me come in. I can be incredibly persuasive when I want to be, apparently.

Ah! It's almost four! I've gotta go! 


	5. Chapter 5

Saturday, October 28th

Termites.

TERMITES!

I can't BELIEVE this! I go to the Sentinel offices today to find whatever I can about Springwood circa nineteen sixty-nineteen ninety nine, and it turns out that those particular years are GONE! The guy behind the desk said there was a termite infestation in the archives! Do termites even eat paper? This is like living in a sitcom, I swear to God! First the library news archives have been destroyed by water damage and now the Sentinel has a case of termites! What are the odds?

I'm starting to think there was no 1966-1999 in Springwood Ohio; it just got swallowed up by some kind of time warp or temporal rip in the fabric of the space time continuum or something! Doesn't ANYONE know what was going on in this town back then?

Wait a minute.

I just had an idea.

Oh wow...am I ever stupid.

I'll just ask people. Duh.

I swear, I'm so dense sometimes I amaze myself.

I'll just find some people who were living here back then and ask them to tell me about the city.

Hey, I might even get a higher grade for adding a human element to my history report...hands on interviews and stuff. Bonus.

It'll have to wait a few days though. I've got work, school and the school carnival this week, plus two reports to finish and some more algebra.

That reminds me, yesterday was fantastic. Leah and Terry get along great. I don't know how they managed to go to Springwood high together for so long without meeting each other before now. In fact, I think Terry is over at Leah's right now...maybe I'll put off my homework for now and go over there for a while.

-

Tuesday, October 31st

Horror movies. Never again. Never, ever, EVER again.

Evil Dead Two: Dead By Dawn was on the tube and I decided to watch it.

BIG mistake.

Now I'm too creeped out to go to sleep. If I knew where it was, I'd go hunt up my old Winnie The Pooh nightlight and plug it in. Of course, under ordinary circumstances, if anyone found out I still owned it, I'd die of embarrassment, but right about now, I'd wear a sandwich board declaring 'I sleep with a nightlight!' if I could just find the damned thing.

As it is, it looks like I'm going to be an insomniac for tonight.

I finished all my homework earlier so I could go to the carnival (Mom's been a total homework nazi lately), so there's nothing to do but write in you, diary.

Speaking of the party, it amazingly went off without a hitch. Leah picked me up in her little hatchback (she was dressed as a clown...which was uncomfortable for me beyond reason since I'm terrified of clowns) and we drove to the school. I think everybody in town showed up for this shindig and all of them in costume. Even the chaperones were dressed up!

I got a picture with Terry and Miss Fern. Terry's the only person who wasn't in costume (although, she fit in with the faux vampires perfectly) and Miss Fern was in a blue evening gown with a pitchfork and devil horns...Devil With A Blue Dress On.

I thought that was pretty clever.

There was only one thing out of the ordinary that happened. A kid was escorted out by a brigade of teachers, all of them looking rather stern. I think he was trying to spike the punch or something. It's funny, I saw him, but have no idea what the heck he was supposed to be. I mean, who wears a Christmas sweater to a Halloween party?

Anyways, aside from that, it was pretty cool. Got to do some dancing before wandering through the haunted house (the gym) that the drama students put together. The food was pretty good too, but the corset on my costume didn't let me eat much...as a matter of fact, I'm feeling a bit peckish right now. I'm going to go in the kitchen to forage.

-

Monday, November 6th

Wow...you want a weird coincidence? Remember the kid that got escorted out of the party at school for spiking the punch. His name's Rodney Miller and the word around school is that he was driving drunk and lost control of his car during a drag race and he's in the intensive care unit at the hospital.

Who the hell drag races while drunk? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. I'm sorry he got hurt and everything but Christ, that seems like a mistake made by someone devoid of common sense. As if driving drunk wasn't bad enough, he was drag racing...how stupid can you get?

The clock downstairs is chiming already, I've gotta leave for work. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Saturday, November 11th**

Diary, I'm so happy I could _bust_ and since I can't call Leah or Terry about it (Terry's getting a nose ring over in the next town and Leah's driving her) I'll have to tell _you._

Today I got called in to work to fill in for Mrs. Morrison, who has a nasty case of the flu. Now, under ordinary circumstances, you'd think I'd be upset about having to come in on the weekend, I was..._at first_.

I got over it PDQ when I found out that Clark (swoon) comes into the library on Saturdays to read. Apparently, his parents saddle him with his little brother Aaron every other Saturday and that's the kid's amusement place of choice.

Boy am I glad his kid brother is a bookworm and not a gamer.

Anyways! He came in and asked me to help him find some stuff for his history project and a couple of kids books for his brother.

So...we got to talking and he like, _just_ dumped Amber whats-her-face.

I think he's going to ask me out.

**-**

**Tuesday, November 14th**

He asked me out, he asked me out, he asked me out. Friday night. Eight o'clock. Friday Night. Eight o'clock.

Am I nervous?

No...not at all.

Have I been scribbling 'Mrs. Andie Thomas' in the margins of my notebook all day with little hearts and arrows?

Nooooo...

Alright, yeah, so I'm going a little bit bonzo over this, but hey. This is the first guy who's asked me out since I got here. I'm entitled to be excited.

**-**

**Thursday, November 16th**

WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR?! Gah! I can't find _anything_ that fits or matches or looks anywhere _near_ grown up.

SHOPPING! I must go shopping!

Goodbye second paycheck...

**-**

**Sunday, November 19th**

He stood me up.

Bastard. Stood. Me. Up.

Gah.

Boys. They're the same no matter _where_ you go.

Thankfully, so is chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

Half a gallon of which I'm slowly burrowing through right now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Friday, November 24th**

Ugh. I'm never eating turkey again. **Ever**. Leah's family had me over for Thanksgiving yesterday and I gorged myself. I _still_ feel stuffed.

Ahahaha. Stuffed. I made a joke without realizing it.

Anyways, Leah had me over 'cause mom had to work. It's the first Thanksgiving dinner I've had since nana died that didn't involve TV dinners. A real turkey was a pleasant change...however, I apparently have an addiction to turkey, because I just ate and ate and ate and didn't know whent to quit. Leah's mom can make one mean bird.

Went up to the attic today to get down the Christmas tree lights since the day after Thanksgiving is the day the tree gets put up, and I managed to trip and fall over that lump in the carpeting _again_.

At least this time I didn't land on a box of glass ornaments.

I landed on a box of Mason jars.

Ouch.

-

**Saturday, November 25th**

Went up to the attic to finally fix that stupid lumpy carpet today. I went out to the garage and got the staple gun and everything.

It turns out the carpeting isn't just lumpy from pulling away from the wall, there's a loose floorboard that was the _real_ culprit. But that's not the interesting part. I lifted the floorboard up to find out what was keeping it out of place, and I found a shoebox underneath. I think it might have been somebody's idea of a makeshift time capsule. There were a few news clippings and some children's drawings, a couple of little whozits and whatsits too...pieces of toys and stuff.

What _really_ intrigues me though, is there was a photograph of a man. He's standing by a barbeque in an apron cooking burgers and there's a little girl in the backyard running around behind him with a sparkler. Typical nineteen sixties dad type stuff. I know that's when it's from, 'cause on the back it says 'F.K. July 4 1966'.

I'm thinkin' that this shoebox belonged to a kid who used to live in this house, probably the little girl running around in the background of the photo. I used to have a box like this myself, you know...kept a bunch of bit and bobbles and things in it that weren't important to anyone else, but that meant the world to _me_. I had pictures of mom and dad before the divorce and stuff in there...

I wonder if this guy's the girl's father? Must've been. She's a little blurry but I can kinda see a resemblance.

Anyways, I left the box in the attic but I've got the photo in my pocket. I don't know why...there's just something about this guy that makes me want to know what F.K. stands for. I think it's because he reminds me of dad around the eyes a little bit.

I wonder if I'd be as curious about this if it was a picture of a woman? I guess so...I mean, I _hate_ unsolved mysteries. I've never even been able to read a murder mystery without skipping ahead to the last page to find out whodunnit. That's why Springfield's historical holes are bothering me so much, I think.

This stupid history project is seriously getting under my skin.

Well, at least now I've got something concrete from Springwood circa 1966, so that kills my theory of a hole in the space time continuum.

Not that it was a very good theory to begin with, but at least it was _something_.

You know, this has given me a focal point for my report, the time capsule that is. This way, it's more personal than just the history of Springwood, it's the history of my home. I wonder if the kid who owned this box still lives in town?

I bet I can find out...

I have no idea _how_ yet, but I'll figure it out.

**-**

**Monday, December 4th**

I swear, drag racing must be some kind of huge extreme sport down here because there's been another couple of kids in an accident. These two were junior high students, though. Took their parents cars out on the ice (the ice...THE ICE!) and drowned. I heard about it today when I went in to work.

Actually, I'm still _at_ work, technically. It's after nine and I'm here all by my lonesome again. I've been slogging through those high school yearbooks at the back of the library one by one over the past week and a half looking for a picture of F.K.

I've been pretty methodical about the whole thing, actually. I'm estimating that the guy in the photo is between thirty and forty five (hey, it's an _old_ picture, it's hard to tell) at the time it was taken so that places his graduating year between 1939 and 1954 (that's assuming he _did_ graduate). Now the yearbooks only go back as far as 1942 so if he's not in the other twelve, then I'll have to dig deeper.

There's only a handful of people with a last name that starts with k, so that's narrowed it down considerably.

But of course, he could have changed his name, or it could stand for something else. Which means I'll have to go through and look at all the pictures if that's the case and try to find him by the way he looks.

That shouldn't be _too_ difficult. He's a pretty...uh...'distinctive' lookin' guy.

You know if you look hard enough at an old photograph you can glean a lot of information about the person in it. He's between 30 and 45 years old, I can see a gold band on the ring finger of his left hand, so I know he was married.

Who was he married to, I wonder? Was she pretty?

Of course she was pretty...that's the way it goes, isn't it? The unattractive men with good personalities always wind up with pretty wives. Daddy was a prime example.

But did this guy have a good personality?

Wait a second, I'm getting off track here. Why the heck am I thinking about this?

I need a break.

A nice looooooong break.

I'm goin' home for the night.


	8. Chapter 8

**Rant**

To the jerk who sent me a nasty PM: What...things aren't going as fast as you'd like? Guess what, too damn bad. If you're reading between the lines, you should see what's going on and that everything will come to fruition soon enough. I'm setting the stage for a drama of Shakespearean proportions here, yeesh. You've heard of this concept called 'the first act', right?

If you've studied psychology -waves her psych book in the air- you'd know that obsession doesn't happen instantaneously. Neither does insanity. I'm trying to make this _realistic_. If you want a Mary Sue story where the character latches onto Freddy in the first chapter as her main squeeze, you'll have to look elsewhere. That kind of writing makes me ill and I find it devoid of literary value other than for educational purposes...i.e. learning how to write. We _all_ start with a Mary Sue character, but after a while there's no excuse for writing one when you know better.

I happen to _know better_. I'm spending time developing a character here, not just telling you what she looks like and where she's from -COUGH-. I'm breathing life into the lifeless so that when she falls on her face (and she'll fall _hard_) it'll feel more real. You don't like it? Hey, I don't have a gun to your head. Either go read something else or get an attitude adjustment and quit bitchin'. Step off.

**/Rant**

**------**

**Wednesday, December 13th**

Winter break starts in two days and we get a _whopping_ **three** weeks off! Why? I have no idea. Back in Michigan we got two weeks at most, but I'm certainly not going to look a gift vacation in the mouth, that's for sure. I'm going to use the first week to find out more about F.K., and since everything's closed the last two weeks of the month (including the library), I'll be spending the rest of my vacation actually _on_ vacation.

No schoolwork, no homework, no _work_ work. I, my friend, am free as a bird.

I finished searching through all the high school year books and I haven't found any F.K.s that look like the guy in the photo, so either he's not from here or he didn't graduate high school.

I'm telling you, after almost three weeks of staring at that picture I think I have his face burned into my frontal lobe.

He's actually kinda grown on me, in a weird way. He reminds me of dad, but he's not dad...it's almost comforting.

It's the eyes I think. There's something there. Something just beneath the surface.

I'm on the verge of finding it creepy, but I just can't seem to cross over from comfortable to creeped out. He's just some guy who used to live in my house...he's probably a million years old by now with a horde of grandchildren.

I think _that's_ what makes it all the more comforting.

I've gotta find out who he is...

Since the year books are a dead end, I'm going to take Friday off work to go poke around the census records downtown.

**-**

**Friday, December 15th**

I ate his liver, with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.

Sorry. I just spent all day slogging through the census data for this little town and I couldn't stop myself from saying (writing) that. The records for Elm Street are a total mess; it seems like a lot of those kids infected by that virus were from here so things changed every couple of years drastically. The only person who lived here at 1428 during the sixties that's listed is a woman named Loretta.

Her last name is all smudgy and I can't read it, but at least it's a first name...that's something. She was probably F.K.'s wife, so if I can find reference to a Loretta K. somewhere, I'll be on the right track.

Terry's coming over tonight and spending the weekend. Her parents have just separated (right before Christmas...bummer), so she's in desperate need of some cheering up.

I guess that means we'll be spending some time at the bone yard. That always makes her feel better. She says that looking her mortality in the face is comforting. Helps her to remember that all this is temporary.

I think the hanging out at a cemetery thing creeps mom out a little bit, but she just kinda shakes her head and mutters something about generation gaps before letting me go.

Speaking of which, someone's knockin' at the door. Terry must be here.

-

**Sunday, December 17th**

I found Loretta.

In the most unlikely of places...

The cemetery.

She died in 1966...the same year that the photo was taken. The headstone says Loretta Morrison (have to check and see if that's Mrs. Morrison's daughter) but I just...

You're going to think I'm nuts, but I just _know_ that this is the Loretta I'm looking for. The headstone has lots of chips off it and stuff, and there's some graffiti sprayed all over it like some kids went to town on it one Halloween for fun, but I feel like it's hers...you know what I mean?

Yeah now that I write it out that way, it does sound nuts...but I just can't shake the feeling that it's her.

I wonder how she died? According to the DOB and DOD she was only thirty years old.

Probably cancer or something. Back then they didn't have all the advances in medicine we've got now...

Maybe she was in a car accident? That seems to be a huge trend in Springwood. Another teenager is in the hospital after he wrapped his car around a tree last night. Of course, the roads have been _really_ icy lately. We just had this massive blizzard late last night and the snow is like two feet high everywhere. It's really pretty, actually. Our backyard is just covered in white. It makes me want to go play in it.

I would, but it's like, three in the morning right now and that might be considered _odd_ behavior. Besides, I'm really tired and should go to sleep soon.

**-**

**Thursday, December 21st**

Alright, woo! That's it! The library is officially closed until the new year! I can finally take that break and do all that partying Leah's been on my case about. Mom's leaving on a business trip until the thirty first (why does everyone _else_ get the holidays off _except_ mom?), and she's trusting me to be at home all by myself.

Leah suggested that I throw a party before mom gets back because that would cement my name in the annals of Springwood party throwing history.

I think she's nuts.


	9. Chapter 9

**Friday, December 29th**

I decided I looooooooooove Vodka. Vodka, Vodka, Voooooodka. Whee!

**-**

**Saturday, December 30th**

Oh my God, my _head._

I've never had a hangover this bad before. It's like the whole room is spinning like a roulette wheel. I can practically hear a guy with a booming voice saying 'Place your bets!' inside my head.

Oooh...owie. I wonder how much Tylenol I can down without overdosing and killing myself?

The house is a mess, my head hurts and I my ribs ache from where Leah was laying on me.

We both passed out under the coffee table in the living room around four this morning.

But damn what a party.

Terry came over too and she's way better at holding her liquor than I am. As soon as my hangover is a little more manageable (ooow) I'm going to have to clean this place from top to bottom before mom gets home.

For now though, I'm going to lie down...at least until the walls stop lookin' all wavy.

**-**

**Wednesday, January 3rd**

Alright, I'm done partying for this vacation. I'm putting off the rest of the raves and stuff until spring break because I've fried my brain on alcohol over the past two weekends and I'm only just _now_ recovering my eyesight. If I want to be able to walk in a straight line next week, I'm going to have to back off a little bit. Leah's begging me to hit one more party this weekend but Miss Fern wants a status report on my history project when we go back to school and I'd like to have a little bit more done than I have.

Plus, mom is home now and I'm _still_ trying to get her to buy the whole 'I have no idea why the liquor cabinet was empty and there were paper cups everywhere when you came home...whatever do you mean?' thing.

It's not working. I'm grounded until the end of February except for school and work.

She got home early from her business trip and she flipped a fruit loop when she saw the mess. I was still recovering from the party and she launched into the 'irresponsible untrustworthy teenager' diatribe.

Didn't help my headache at all. Of course, that started a shouting match between us, because after all- I'm a teenager. She should have expected something like this from me, right?

She says that Leah and Terry are bad influences on me and that back home I never would have done anything this irresponsible.

I countered that Leah and Terry had nothing to do with it and that I'd never done anything irresponsible before because I'd never had the chance.

Of course, between you and me, I probably wouldn't have thrown the party if Leah hadn't suggested it, but I can't let mom know that...I mean, I had a _blast_ doing something totally stupid for the first time in forever.

Plus, she's trying to lay all the blame at Terry's feet with this...like just because she _looks_ different, she's some kind of degenerate.

Mom said that she's a disturbed girl because her parents broke up but then I asked if she thought _I_ was disturbed because she and Daddy broke up.

I really love it when I win an argument legitimately.

Either way, I'm still grounded until the end of Feb.

Well, at least it'll give me plenty of time to work on my history project.


	10. Chapter 10

**Saturday, January 6th**

School reopening has been postponed until the eleventh so that everyone who knew Terry can go to her funeral on Monday.

I can't believe she's gone. She was _my_ age and she's just..._gone_.

Oh God, I'm going to start crying again.

I called her house this afternoon to talk to her and her mom told me she was found in the bathtub this morning. Everyone is saying she slashed her wrists in a fit of severe depression.

I can't believe that. I just _can't_.

I talked to her two days ago and she sounded just fine. Better than fine in fact. She said she was almost done with the first half of her history report and had found a bunch of new leads for a piece on a serial killer from Ohio that would spice it up.

She sounded so excited about it when she called me and now they're saying she killed herself.

I'm going to go over to her house and offer my condolances to her parents. I'm probably one of the only people who actually knew her well enough to _care_ that she's dead. To everyone else this is probably just an excuse to stay out of school a couple of extra days.

Bastards.

Damn it. I'm crying again.

Why would she kill herself? That's what I can't wrap my head around. She wasn't a depressed person (well, no more so than me) so why?

I mean...yeah, she had a really dark, morbid sense of humor and had a fascination with the more macabre side of life...but that doesn't mean she was _suicidal._ Her parents broke up but I mean...so did mine. I didn't kill myself.

And she was so happy the last time I talked to her...

I think something about this isn't quite right.

-

**Monday, January 8th**

If she slashed her wrists, why was it a closed casket service? I know for a fact that Terry wanted an _open_ casket funeral. She used to say she imagined people standing over her, all creeped out.

She'd say that and then laugh about it.

Terry's never going to laugh again.

I miss her so badly.

I almost wish they'd had an open casket service just so I could see her one more time.

Does that sound morbid? I guess it does...but I think it would have given me a little more closure than the closed casket.

Mom's been trying to be sympathetic, but I think she feels guilty for blasting Terry now that she's gone. I mean, was it really less than a week ago that she was blaming my partying on my 'goth' friend?

It seems like another lifetime, not seven days ago...

I guess that shows just how quickly your whole world can change.

I hate this. Everything just feels so...

I can't even think of a word for it.

Raw, I guess is as close as I can come to describing it. My nerves are just _raw_. The entire universe seems to be turned up and everything is in technicolor in comparison to how it was before. I just...

My chest feels all...

I don't know.

I need to go lie down.

And cry...crying might help.

**Thursday, January 11th**

School started again today.

Mom called in and told them I'm sick.

I'm not sick. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. I'm heartsick pretty bad, though. Terry was one of the only real friends I made here and I just couldn't face going to history class and seeing her empty chair.

I can't face the reality of it yet. Leah called to check on me and we've agreed to go to the cemetery together later to say goodbye...

I think she needs to do this as much as I do. Terry was kinda a loner and I get the impression from the small group that was at the wake (she was Irish...I didn't know that until now) we were some of her only close friends.

Mom doesn't know what to do with me, I think. She's never been good with dealing with grief. When nana died she kinda bottled it up inside rather than deal with it and threw herself into her work. Dad's the one who helped me through it that time. Back before he turned into such a jerk, of course.

Sometimes I miss him but then I remember he wasn't what he pretended to be. He was the perfect father in front of the rest of the world...

I don't want to think about it. I've got to do something to take my mind off all this. If I keep it up it's going to drive me crazy.

**Sunday, January 14th**

I finished writing the first half of my report, from the founding of Springwood to the nineteen fifties is done. Even slapped some polish on it. I just sat in my room and worked on it all weekend to keep my mind off things. I haven't slept the whole time either.

I think I'm picking up mom's work ethic. Work nonstop _just_ to keep my mind occupied.

Now I'm stuck without anything to do until tomorrow morning when I go back to school so I'm just laying here on my bed, writing in you. If the library was open I could be doing some searching for Loretta's picture in the high school year books, but it's too late in the day. After spending so much time with those books, I find I really like them a lot. Everything looks so much better.

It's like the photograph of F.K. Everything looks so perfect and picturesque. I almost wish I lived there.


	11. Chapter 11

To the four people who review this, I thank you graciously. Glad to know the work isn't unappreciated.

**------**

**Friday, January 19th**

Well, this week was my first back at school _and_ at work. Mrs. Morrison was a lot more understanding about me missing work than Miss Fowely was about me missing school.

Agatha (Mrs. Morrison insists I call her by her first name now for some reason) hugged me when I came into work on Monday. She heard about Terry (then again, everyone's heard about Terry. News like that travels really fast in a tiny town like this one. Hell, _any_ kind of news travels fast in a town like this one.) and called me into her office to ask if I wanted to talk about it.

I don't know why, but I spilled my guts to her.

I can't talk about it with mom, but to Mrs. Morrison I can. She just...she seems to understand. You know, now that I think about it, it occurs to be that she reminds me of nana a little bit. She has that same disarming way of getting me to talk about something I don't want to.

Speaking of mom, she's been acting...weird lately. It's nothing I can put my finger on, but something is up. She doesn't deal with death very well, I guess.

She's also been watching me like a hawk whenever I'm at home. Like she expects me to off myself at any given moment.

I still don't believe that Terry killed herself. I was talking about it with Leah and she said that she went out with Terry the day before and she seemed perfectly fine. Not so much as a hint of depression.

It still doesn't feel real. It's like I'm living someone elses life because surely nothing like _this_ could ever happen to _me_ and my friend. I mean...I'm seventeen. This kind of thing just...doesn't happen. Does it? We're supposed to have our whole lives ahead of ourselves.

It's not fair.

**Saturday, January 20th**

Was called in to work on my day off again.

Clark was there..._again_.

He told me he didn't stand me up. Amber is stalking him, apparently. Can't deal with the fact he dumped her for being too clingy.

Yeah, right. Like he's God's gift to girls.

Anyway...he asked me out again. I only semi-turned him down. I'm still grounded until the end of February, after all, so the only time I'd be able to see him outside of school is at work.

Besides, I'm not much in the mood to date. It's only been a couple of weeks since Terry...

Speaking of which, Leah told me that Terry's mom is moving out of Springwood. She's really shaken up and I can't blame her. I can't imagine what she's going through. First her marriage breaks up and then her only child dies.

**Monday, January 22th**

Terry's mom came over today. She brought a folder full of stuff that was Terry's. She said that she wanted me to have it.

It's her research on the serial killer from Ohio.

The Springwood Slasher.

I think I'm going to throw up.


	12. Chapter 12

**Saturday, January 27th**

What the hell possessed me to go to the library looking for information on the Slasher? I spent all day there today. From opening till closing, _searching_.

Terry entrusted this information to me for _some_ reason. I feel obligated to finish the work she started. The stuff in this folder is the last thing she was working on before she...

Before she died.

I have to do this for her. I have to finish this for her. I owe her. That's what it is.

She was so excited about this.

I feel like there's something here that just _has_ to be done

**Tuesday, January 30th**

My God...I must be the dumbest girl on the face of the planet. The years that are gone from the newspaper archives coincide with the years that Terry wrote that the Slasher was active. So do the years that all those teenagers died.

There wasn't a virus. That was a load of shit. They were killed by this Springwood Slasher guy.

Why did they try to cover it up? Were they trying to protect tourism or something? Christ...

Although, that kinda makes sense, doesn't it? No one would want to move here if they knew there was a killer on the loose. Even if they caught him or he died, the town would still be marked by his reign of terror.

And it was a _long_ one too. I wonder how old the Slasher is? He's gotta be ancient by now if he's still alive, because according to Terry's notes, he was a busy, busy guy for close to forty years.

I know it sounds terrible, but I kinda hope he's dead...most of his victims were teenage girls who lived on Elm Street and I find that to be more than a little bit creepy.

**Monday, February 5th**

Dad called again last night. I didn't want to talk to him so I just hung up on him.

He was drunk, you know that? _Totally_ smashed on a Sunday night. Bastard.

I bet you anything F.K. was a better father than mine is...

He certainly _looks_ the part.

I hate to admit it, but there's something inviting about him...familiar.

Papa. _That's_ who he reminds me of. Not dad. They look similar, but the eyes are definitely more like Papa's than dad's.

I miss Papa. I should write to him.

Not that he'll understand the letters now or anything...he didn't even know me last time I went to see him. But it's something to do other than my research.

Which seems to be _all_ I've been doing lately. I stayed after work again today, this time looking for stuff on the Slasher.

Nothing. Not a single scrap. It was one of the biggest news items in the history of Springwood and I'm sure it must've been reported, but I guess termites and flood damage aren't picky about what they ruin.

Since I can't find any reference to him in any of the newspapers here, I'm going to call one of my school friends from Michigan and ask him to look around the archives up there for me. See what he can find out about this.

**Wednesday, January 7th**

I feel really, _really_ sick.

And it's not just the fact that Terry decided to leave me her incomplete case files about the Slasher.

I've got a nasty case of the flu.

_Beyond_ nasty.

It's come out of nowhere and I'm stuck in bed until the Doctor clears me.

He said it'll probably take a week or more.

So I'm stuck in bed with nothing to do and no way to get to the library to work on my report.

This sucks.


	13. Chapter 13

**Wednesday, February 14th**

Nothing like living through Valentines day without a Valentine.

Although, if you listen to Clark, you'd think that if I wasn't grounded, I'd _have_ a Valentine.

I'm seriously thinking about taking him up on his offer. I mean, it's just one date.

Well, I've still got a couple of weeks to think about it while I'm still grounded.

On the plus side, mom got me a laptop for my birthday yesterday (woohoo) so now I can do some research from my bed, at least.

As soon as I figure out how to set up the internet connection, that is...

**Friday, February 16th**

I'm _still_ sick.

I'm going to have _so_ much homework waiting for me when I finally get back to school.

Chris said he found a bunch of newspaper articles on the Springwood Slasher. It was a huge news item in the sixties, he said, but there's no mention of the guy after that.

Name was...oh geez, he told me not half an hour ago and I've already forgotten. Fred something. Started with a k...

Krueger. That was it. Fred Krueger.

Chris is going to get some copies of the articles and send them to me as soon as he can so that I can glimpse them for myself. It'll take him awile, though. He's got school and work (Chris..working..something is desperately wrong with _that_ picture), but he'll get them to me by the end of the week, he swears.

I guess that means I can expect them sometime next year...

**Tuesday, February 20th**

There was another teenager found dead this morning.

In the bathtub, wrists slashed.

Just like Terry.

They're calling it a suicide pact. Apparently, both the day Terry killed herself and the day he did coincide with Satanic holidays or something...have to research that later.

Leah called and told me about it first thing. The guy was her neighbor. John something...I forget. I've got too much Nyquil running through my system to catch little unimportant things like names.

They're saying that Terry and John were going out together (apparently he's the only other Goth in school and according to everyone over the age of seventeen, that means he _must_ have been dating Terry) and they made a pact to kill themselves so that they could be together forever.

I do so _hate_ to rain on everyone's parade, but Terry was single. I know that for sure and Leah can attest to the fact that John never even _met_ Terry.

If they were going out together, they must've been incredibly discreet with everything, because _no one_ saw them together. _Anywhere_. I asked around.

Leah's starting to get suspicious about this whole suicide thing too. Stuff is starting to add up weirdly and neither of us like it.

I don't know what it means just yet, but there's _something_ going on here that's not quite kosher.


	14. Chapter 14

**Thursday, February 22nd**

Satanic holidays my ass.

I finally got my laptop working with internet access and that's the first thing I checked out. There aren't any Satanic holidays that occur on the days that John and Terry died.

That's right, _died_. I'm not calling them suicides anymore. I don't know how Terry was killed exactly, but I can just _tell_ it wasn't by her own hand. There's just too much surrounding her death that's out of place with the way things should be for it to have been suicide.

Someone is covering something up. I'm not sure who yet, but I'm going to find out.

Maybe the Springwood Slasher is still active?

No..that's unlikely at best.

The murders stretch all the way back to the nineteen sixties, so even if he was a teenager when he commited the first one, he's still over sixty. No match for a fit teenager like Terry.

Plus what few details there are about these deaths blamed on the Slasher indicate that he was a methodical guy...practiced.

There's even a sheet of paper in this folder that Terry used to profile him. Male, mid thirties to mid forties, caucasion, most likely lower middle class with anger and control issues.

So if she was right, this guy must be pushin' eighty by now.

Maybe a copycat?

That seems like a possibilty.

**Friday, March 2nd**

Finally. I'm not grounded anymore.

And _amazingly_, Clark is _still_ interested in dating me.

I'm going to the theatre with him tonight. Leah is coming with me to play chaperone (what? It's a _drive in_...how should I know what's expected of a girl in a parked car on a first date in Springwood?) and bringing her buddy Jay as her date.

I don't know how much of a chaperone she's going to be though...bet you twenty bucks she and Jay spend the time lighting up and getting high.

Oh well...at least I won't be _alone_ with Clark.

Chris called me earlier today, he's still working on those newspapers (in between parties, knowing him) and he said he'll send the copies to me next week. He said there's about a million different articles he has to sort through yet in order to find the ones that'll give me the most information while taking up the least amount of postage.

If he was more technologically apt (not that I'm the poster girl for aptitude) he could just e-mail them to me.

I think I'd prefer to lay my hands on them, actually. That makes them more real. Like how the picture of F.K. made Springwood's past more tangible.

Clark's here. Gotta run.

**Saturday, March 3rd**

You owe me twenty bucks, diary. Leah and Jay got stoned last night.

I didn't really mind. I mean, they weren't completely toasted and Clark was nice.

The movie sucked though.

But being in Clark's green and white 1956 Ford Crown Victoria _more_ than made up for it. Felt like a queen.

Granted, the outside was kinda rusty (maybe I should have classified it as a green, white and _red_?) but the inside was like stepping into...I dunno...Marilyn Monroe's shoes, I guess. Wish I'd been around back then...everything was so glam.

Yeah, the history project is _seriously_ starting to affect me.

I'm starting to pray for the day when it'll be over. I don't know how much more of searching for F.K. I can take.

**Wednesday, March 14th**

I really _am_ the dumbest girl on the planet.

Chris just sent me copies of those articles on Fred Krueger, complete with pictures.

Fred Krueger.

His name is _Fred Krueger._

F.K.

It's him. It's **_him_**. The guy in the photograph is the Slasher. They caught him and took him to trial and everything. I've been carrying a picture of a serial killer around in my pocket for the past several months. I didn't make the connection until I saw the photograph from the newspaper of him coming down the courthouse steps.

The guy who lived in my house...in _this_ house...who slept in these rooms, and stood in my backyard making burgers in a silly looking apron with his daughter running around behind him...

He was a _murderer_.

A **murderer**.

That's how Loretta died, you know that? He throttled her in his (MY!) backyard when she found out about his after work 'activities'.

I need a drink. A big, liver poisoning _drink_.


	15. Chapter 15

**Thursday, March 29th**

My God...I can't _believe_ how stupid I am! All the signs were there, it just took those newspaper articles to connect the dots.

Seriously, people as dumb as I am should **not** be allowed to breed.

I keep rereading my diary entries and I just can't _believe_ how thick I was.

Did I really build F.K. up so much in my head that I couldn't even consider him to be a bad guy? How much did I invest in one crummy old photograph? I projected all my feelings for someone else on a picture of someone I've never met. I just...the photo made me feel so safe and untouchable. It was a kinder (ha) simpler time...I just poured all my worries into this stupid sheet of paper.

How dumb am I? How did I manage to feel a kinship with this sicko just because he lived in my house?

Ew. My house.

I want to move.

And you know what's really wrong?

Even though I know what he did (well, not _all_ of the details, but I have a pretty clear idea) I still can't bring myself to hate him.

Does that make me sick in the head?

I think it might...just a little bit. But I can't help it.

I keep thinking of Fred Krueger and F.K. as being completely seperate people.

I mean...surely this guy making burgers in his backyard can't be a homicidal psychopath...right?

Maybe he was framed?

No...wishful thinking...

They caught him red handed. His tools and things- I feel a little ill thinking about that, so maybe I'm not completely beyond help- in the basement here. None of the papers detail exactly what _kind_ of tools he used, but I think from his moniker it's a pretty safe bet whatever it was, was pretty damn _sharp_.

Someone here has to know about this...who can I ask? Who can I trust?

**Saturday, April 7th**

Dear God...I killed Agitha.

I brough up the Slasher and BOOM, massive coronary.

Dead before she hit the ground.

I'm feeling _really_ shaky about it. I can't believe I did this.

I mean, I know she was old, but maybe if I hadn't brought up something that traumatic, she wouldn't have keeled over quite so soon.

I guess I shouldn't ask anyone else about this Slasher business.

Leah already knows...I told her everything.

Well, not the photo. I didn't think she needed to know that the very person I had been obsessed with all this time was a child murderer.

Leah agrees with me about the copycat theory. Her parents are letting her go to Cinncinatti to meet her older sister and go to a concert, so she's going to stop by the library up there on her way back and find out whatever she can about this. See if anyone has checked out any of the stuff about the Slasher recently.

If there's been someone poking around for information on him, maybe we'll be able to track the copycat.

**Friday, April 13th**

Leah's dead.

Car crash. Fell asleep at the wheel on her way back to Springwood.

I feel numb all over. Like someone's slathered orajel on all of my limbs.

First Terry and now Leah.

I have to go lie down.


	16. Chapter 16

I just glanced at this thing in it's entirety...boy there are a lot of errors to be fixed. Maybe I shouldn't write at four in the morning after three days without any sleep...

-small voice in her head- _You think so?_

**-**

**Tuesday, April 17th**

Apparently, losing both your best friends in the space of four months isn't a good excuse to scream at your principal for being an insensitive bastard.

Mister Relich sent me to the school counselor, who then referred me to a local shrink.

I'm in the waiting room to see Doctor Leonard McCoy (I laughed for a good solid minute when I heard his name), who's going to try and counsel me and medicate me for my depression. Well, look on the bright side, at least he's not trying to medicate me for my insanity. I should take that as a good thing, I suppose.

Mom's really worried about me. I can't really _blame_ her, of course, but she's looking at me like I'm a member of the Manson family.

If only she knew what was going on...

I don't know if I can tell her though. I mean...look at what happened to everyone _else_ I've told.

You're my only confidant, diary. I can't trust anyone from Springwood, they're all part of the cover-up, and if I tell mom she'll probably freak out.

**Sunday, April 22nd**

Two more teenagers dead this week. We're dropping like flies and it sure as hell ain't no _virus_ killing us.

I don't know what's happening, but someone is covering it up, whatever _it_ is. Every time anyone comes close to the truth, something happens to them.

I'm starting to think all those car crashes weren't _really_ car crashes. I think the slasher got to them and the powers that be in this town are covering it up.

Why isn't anyone doing anything about this?

WHAT IS GOING ON?

They _must_ know about the Slasher, someone _must_ have made the connection before me...someone in this town _has_ to realize that there's a murderer out there on the street.

Unless it's like the Stepford Wives...everyone _knows_ but they don't let it upset their perfect little suburbia and just cover it all up.

That's probably it. That has to be it.

**Wednesday, April 25th**

Just for the record: I'm not obsessed; I'm curious. There's a _huge_ difference.

My Doctor however, says I'm _obsessed_.

I told him I think he's a part of the conspiracy to keep the secrets of Springwood buried.

He upped my dosage.

Now I _know_ he's part of it.

Every time I bring 'it' up, Old Doc McCoy increases my meds, pats me on the head and sends me on my way, chuckling about my delusions of grandeur. He says that my life is so dull I have to make things up to keep my existence exciting, and that's why I see conspiracies everywhere I turn.

But they _are_ there. They _have_ to be. There are just too many questions about this town's past that no one can answer.

Or that no one _will_ answer, at least.

That's what I _really_ think...I think the adults know but they won't tell.

But why? What would be the harm in...oh, I don't know, setting up some kind of police taskforce to stop this guy?

I don't even know why I mentioned it to Doctor McCoy.

I left out the F.K. parts, just told him that I was doing a history project on Springwood and that there were a lot of missing pieces of history that I couldn't find. I jokingly suggested that there was a conspiracy just to test his reaction and...

Well...yeah, he upped my anti-depressant.

I think that's a pretty good indication that there's something more going on here than what's on the surface.

Wow. I just reread this entry.

It seems so...disorganized. Kinda out of it.

I've been feeling that way since McCoy put me on those meds.

I think I need to lie down for a while.

**Monday, April 30th**

You want to know something ironic? The academic fair is less than a week away and I find myself not caring.

I devoted _how_ much of my life preparing for it and now I just don't care.

It doesn't much matter anyway. Miss Fern excused me from the project. She didn't want to stress me anymore than I already have been.

I feel funny. My throat's been kinda weird feeling for the past few days and the world has been on a perpetual tilt. I can't really concentrate on anything either.

It's definitely the medication. Ever since I started taking it the whole world seems like it's going slower than it used to.

It's like walking through water all the time. I don't like it.

And I don't like the disorganization, either. I can't keep any of my schoolwork straight. I brought my English book into science class today.

I could have _sworn_ I got my science book. I was certain I had the book with the green and blue cover.

I feel so disoriented all the time.

Mister Capelli sent me to the nurse and the nurse sent me home. She said I had a nasty, contagious virus and I'm not to return to school until I'm over whatever this mysterious virus is.

I tried to explain to her that it's the fact I'm being pumped full of drugs, but she insisted that I go home anyway.

She said if it _was_ the medications, I'd be better once the stuff built up in my system properly. My body isn't used to the artificial substances that are invading it, she said. I'm bound to be disoriented until I'm used to the new stuff in my bloodstream.

I don't know if that's it or not.

I'm tired, diary. It's hard to hold my pen. I have to go take a nap.


	17. Chapter 17

**Tuesday, May 1st**

I tried calling Clark last night. I needed to talk to someone..._anyone_.

His brother answered the phone and told me to call back later.

I'm worried.

I'm also tired.

Really, _really_ tired.

**Thursday, May 3rd**

I went back to school today. I'm not feeling much better than I was a few days ago, but I couldn't get ahold of Clark and I was worried. His brother stopped answering the phone so I had to try and get my information out of the next best source: The highschool grapevine.

Clark is in the hospital. He went to a rave and almsot died from an X overdose.

Bullshit.

I'm not going to believe anything I hear from anyone in this town from now on unless I see proof of it with my own eyes.

**Sunday, May 6th**

I tried talking to mom today. I tried telling her what's wrong.

I couldn't. I just _couldn't._

Part of it is the fact that I don't know how she would react and the other part is that I'm afraid she'll think I'm crazy with my 'Secrets Of Springwood' theory.

After all, I'm seeing a shrink. _I_ used to think only crazy people went to shrinks. Apparently, I was wrong.

Unless I _am_ crazy.

Which is a distinct possibility at this point.

I don't know what to believe anymore. I don't know who I can trust.

Looking back on some of my more recent diary entries, I can see where someone might think I was insane. I certainly _sound_ insane. Or paranoid at the very least.

But if there's one thing I've learned throughout this whole thing it's that no matter how paranoid you are, you'll never be paranoid _enough._

I was naive. I was simple minded and didn't see the signs that were right in front of me.

Well, I've learned my lesson.

Now I'm _looking_ for things that are wrong. I'm not going to be caught off guard again. Ever.


	18. Chapter 18

For Darkness, who inquired about this story's time frame: I'd say it takes place in the not so distant future. I don't really want to acknowledge the events of Freddy Vs. Jason, since I don't exactly consider it to be a Nightmare film, rather a hybrid of the two franchises, but Springwood during the events of the 1428 diaries is very similar to the Springwood depicted in FvJ.

**-**

**Friday, May 11th**

I've been having really weird, trippy dreams. Like that one time I dropped acid, but scarier. I think that it might be the meds that McCoy has prescribed me.

I've been sleeping a lot more since I started them. Heavier too.

And that's in _addition_ to the disorientation. I've been experiencing. I've got to talk to McCoy about this. I really think it's the meds. I have an appoitment with him on the 23rd, but I'm going to see fi I can get mom to reschedule for something sooner.

I can't take much more of this.

**Sometime in May, I have no idea what date right now, 15th/16th, I think**

Diary, I _just_ woke up. It's still dark outside.

I had a nightmare. A really, _really_ bad nightmare.

My hands are shaking, it was so bad.

I think the medication is _seriously_ messing with me. I've never had a dream that was this vivid before. It was so _real_. Leah was there and Terry too...but not the way I knew them.

I was somewhere...I don't know where. It was hot and wet and the air smelled like rust.

And blood. Blood and rust. That same rich coppery smell...

It was hard to breathe. Claustrophobic. Like I was being smothered by my surroundings.

The thing is, it didn't last long. It only felt like a few minutes...maybe just seconds. Everything was surreal and came in flashes.

I don't think I'm going to be able to go back to sleep for a while.

**Monday, May 21st**

I woke up just now again. Had another nightmare. It was even more vivid than the last.

Longer too.

And _he_ was there.

It was _him._ It was F.K.

But it wasn't F.K.

It was...it was someone who professed to _be_ Fred Krueger (or Freddy, as he called himself) but it wasn't the man in the photograph.

He was...it's hard to explain. He moved almost like...well, something that wasn't human.

He didn't _sound_ human either. His voice was thick and gravelly, like I sound when I've got a really bad sore throat.

But where _my_ voice cracks, his was heavier...that's the only adjective I can come up with for it. _Heavier_. Like it held more strength...more weight.

More power.

That's what it was. Power. He _oozed_ power. It was like...like being hit with it...almost like it was a physical presense on it's own. Just wave after wave of it.

I'm still trembling from it. It's the same as that time I almost drowned in Lake Michigan when the current pulled me under.

It was _just_ like that...it was...it was an irrisistable pull that I couldn't fight.

Like being caught in the undertow.

**Saturday, May 26th**

Five days nightmare free. I'm starting to think those that I had last week were some kind of a fluke brought on by the medication.

That's the only explanation I can come up with. My subconscious mind having a minor break down. I mean...I've been thinking about what those dreams _meant_, trying to analyze them the way Terry would have.

The claustrophobic feeling I had about my surroundings probably have to do with how trapped I feel in this town. Leah and Terry being there...well, they've been weighing pretty heavy on my mind lately...

As for F.K...

He's been the one constant, unwavering thing in my life over the past few months. The rest of my life has changed by leaps and bounds since I found his photograph, but he himself remains exactly the same. Forever trapped in the confines of that shiny piece of paper, eternally standing by the grill in that ridiculous apron, cooking burgers.

No matter what else changes, that photograph will remain as it is now, always. There's comfort in that, regardless of what kind of man he turned out to be, the consistancy of the picture is _comforting_.

I just reread this entry.

God, I _am_ going nuts. It's **got** to be the medications.


	19. Chapter 19

**Sunday, May 27th**

I've stopped taking the medications. I did some research on them on the sly and it turns out that these _particular_ meds are prescribed for seizures, not depression.

Oh, they're in a bottle that proclaims they're for depression, but the serial numbers on the tablets tell a different story.

When given to someone who doesn't have seizures, this medication causes disorientation, confusion and general muddled-headed-ness.

I skipped my dosage yesterday and while I felt kinda shaky (withdrawls, I assume), I felt a hell of a lot more lucid than I have in weeks.

The pharmacist must have known about this; there's no way that he could 'accidentally' put the wrong medication into the wrong bottle twice in a row.

This is a much further reaching conspiracy than originally anticipated. Everyone _from_ Springwood seems to know about it and is keeping all the outsiders in the dark.

I don't know what I'm going to do about this. I'm on my own with this thing. Mom won't believe me and there's no one alive in Springwood that I trust.

**Thursday, May 31st**

I've got an appointment with Doctor McCoy tomorrow. I'm going to call him on his bull.

I don't know what he'll do when I call him out about everything, but I want to see his reaction.

The bastard has been pumping me full of drugs for no reason and I want to know _why_.

**Saturday, June 2nd**

Clark's in the hospital alright.

The thing is, everyone neglected to mention that he's in _Westin Hills_...

The local looney bin.

How do I know this when everyone else thinks he's in rehab?

Because I've been committed to the nuthatch myself and I saw him with my own eyes.

Why am I here, you ask? Well, McCoy says I'm here for observation...he's worried my medication needs _adjustment._

I'd like to adjust _him_.

He gave me a bunch of sheets of paper to write down how I _feel_. I'll tell him how I feel. Like bashing his fat head in with a baseball bat, that's how I _feel_.

Of course, I'm not going to give him _this_ sheet of paper. I've decided to dummy up some stuff that's Doctor-Reading friendly.

Regardless of what the good doctor thinks, I'm not _stupid_.

Which is exactly what he thinks. You want to know why I'm here? You want to know the line of bullshit he fed my mother so that she would put me in here?

He said I attacked him during our session yesterday. He claims it's because of the medication, which caused me to black out and go bonkers. He asked mom if I'd been acting oddly lately, disoriented or anything, and then when she said yes, he replied that it was probably a hormonal imbalance caused by the medication.

I knew there was a reason he put me on those meds. He _wanted_ me disoriented so he could have me committed because I know too much.

Of course...he doesn't know _exactly_ what I know. My plan to call him out about his lying fell to the wayside when he started asking me weird questions about my dreams yesterday. I started having second thoughts about it when he asked...

Best not to show my hand just yet. I want to know more before I make any moves.


	20. Chapter 20

**Friday, June 8th**

They've started rationing the paper that they've been giving me, only three sheets a day so I'm going to be stuck writing really, really small and conserving as much space as I possibly can. The first day I was here they gave me six sheets to write down my 'feelings' and I stashed two in my shirt so I could write down the way I'm _really_ feeling and add it to my diary later. Doctor McCoy says that writing how I'm feeling will make it easier for him to understand exactly what's wrong with me.

I'll tell you what's wrong with me. NOTHING. That's what's wrong with me. It's this town that's crazy. Lock _them_ up!

See, that's the kind of thing I have to keep to myself in here...I don't want to be stuck in Westin Hills for the rest of my natural life.

I'm just going to keep writing what he wants to read...hopefully, given enough time, I can convince him that I'm perfectly sane. Just depressed and pathetic because of my friends all dying so closely together.

I can't _wait_ to get out of here.

**Tuesday, June12th**

How is basket weaving supposed to cure mental illness? All it's done for me so far is give me several dozen positively _hellish_ splinters.

And if I'm told to draw one more pretty picture for Nurse Bell, I'm going to **_scream._**

**Thursday, June 14th**

Doctor McCoy keeps asking me about my dreams. It's definitely another piece of the puzzle. I'm not the only one who's being asked these questions, either. I overheard him talking to the bushy haired girl who's been rocking back and forth in her chair during group therapy.

Her name is Lissa and she has one green eye and one blue one.

Why I'm telling you this, I have no idea.

She's really nervous whenever anyone comes within two feet of her...just shrinks back and hugs whatever is solid nearby.

When Doctor McCoy tried to talk to her earlier, _I_ happened to be the solid thing nearby. She grabbed me like her life depended on it and hung on.

She's terrified of something and I think McCoy has something to do with it. She reacts the same way when anyone else approaches, but there's something more...desperate about it when it's McCoy coming towards her.

She's like a skittish animal, almost. Like my dog Virgil was around people when I first got him...he was skittish to begin with, but whenever someone came at him who was a threat, he got even _more_ upset.

I feel really sorry for Lissa...when she was holding onto me she was shaking so badly I thought she might fall apart in my hands.

I also tried to talk to Clark today but he's catatonic. Just sits there and stares straight ahead.

I hate it in here.

Why hasn't mom come to get me yet?

Oh right...she thinks I'm just as crazy as everyone _else_ in here.

**Wednesday, June 20th **

I talked with one of my fellow inmates today. I'm not going to call him a patient, because that would suggest there's something wrong with him when there isn't.

It's Clark Thomas. He's not exactly as catatonic as I was led to believe.

He was just sitting there, staring at nothing, when I went to pick up a magazine from the table in front of him and he said my name.

At first I thought I was going crazy and hearing things, because I didn't see his lips move, but then he did it again.

I sat down next to him with the magazine in hand and he started muttering to me. I expected some kind of nonsense (after all, they put him in here, didn't they?) but he was completely lucid.

For a few minutes, at least. Right up until he started warning me 'bout dream demons and 'Freddy' Krueger, the nightmare murderer.

I kinda checked out for a few minutes after that.

Yes, there's weird shit goin' down in Springwood all the time, but I think that blaming it on a supernatural murderer (who's very, _very_ **dead** at the moment) is taking things a step or two too far.

Although...now that I think about it, it does rather tie in with everything I keep hearing from Doctor McCoy. He keeps asking me about my dreams...and keeps asking me, and keeps asking me. He says it for a dream study he's conducting about teenagers under extreme stress.

But I haven't been having dreams since I've been in _here._ None. Not good ones _or_ bad ones.

Wait a second...he's only been asking about my dreams _before_ I came to Westin Hills.

You would think, what with all the stress of being in a mental institution, he'd be more interested in the dreams I've had _since_ I've been here.

It's like he _knows_ I'm not dreaming without even having to ask me about it.

How?

---

A/N: As someone who was once _in_ a mental wards (albeit only for a few days) I can attest to the fact that they _do_ make you do the most incredibly _stupid_ activities, basket weaving and coloring among them.


	21. Chapter 21

**Sunday, June 24th**

Hypnocil.

It's the Hypnocil.

That's how they've been keeping me from dreaming.

I secretly skipped it yesterday and I dreamed for the first time since I've been here.

I dreamed of _him._

I'm having a hard time reconciling the fact that _he_ and F.K. are one and the same. They were seperate creatures for me for so long...one a cruel murderer, the other a kind, fatherly type who reminded me of Papa.

I can't believe I ever took comfort in his photograph.

What sickens me, is that to a certain degree, I _still_ do.

Even after that _horrible_ dream.

It was worse than the others.

He knew my name. He _knew_ **me**.

He knew everything about me.

Right down to my obsession with his photograph.

He was _flattered_. Ouright flattered.

The things he did...the things he _said_...

I...I just...

I can't even think about it right now. It makes my stomach lurch.

What's even worse is that I'm nowhere near as disgusted as I _should_ be. Maybe it's a case of desensitization. I spent so much time with that stupid photograph, finding comfort in it, that the reality hasn't set in yet.

If it _is_ reality. This might just be my mind conjuring up something based on what Clark told me and everything I know about the Slasher.

If that's the case, and it _is_ just a figment of my imagination, I'll feel much better about that twinge of attraction I felt to him. It was like...like I was drawn to him.

I didn't like it. I don't want to feel that pull towards him in my chest ever again. It was stronger this time than it was the last..and the last time was pretty damned bad.

Either way, I'm not going to go off the Hypnocil again. Ever. I'm not taking any more chances.

That's how they've been keeping _everyone_ from dreaming.

Because that's how _he_ gets to you. In your _sleep_.

The parents of Springwood are keeping their children from dreaming to protect them.

The whole TOWN knows about this, don't they? They **must**.

They're containing it in the only way they know how. Cover it up and drug those who are infected.

It _is_ a virus after all.

And I'm infected.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuck.

**Sunday, July 1st**

Clark died in his sleep last night. Doctor McCoy came to talk with me about it. I lied through my teeth. No, Clark didn't say anything to me, no, I'd never had any bad dreams since coming to Springwood, no, I didn't think there was anything really suspicious going on.

Clark was infected, like me...he knew about Krueger.

I asked Lissa if she knew anything about what happened to Clark.

I know I shouldn't push her, but they're making me leave in a few days (I don't know _why_) and I had to know if she knew anything.

Before mom and I moved here, Lissa used to live at 1428 Elm.

She's infected too.

She told me everything she knew about him, about the dream demons...

I know it sounds insane. I know I shouldn't be listening to her.

I can't help it. The pieces are finally falling into place.

Even though they're falling into places that seem completely _crazy_, it's making some sort of sick sense. Krueger was murdered by the townsfolk, he came back for revenge against them by taking their children in their sleep...

It makes sense in a 'Hollywood movie scenario that could never _actually_ happen' kind of way. She's even told me that this dream demon stuff exists in a hundred different cultures as mythology. The dead can't rest until their task is completed, and Krueger's task is to finish what he started: wipe out the children of Elm street.

Lissa and I both lived on Elm.

It's only a matter of time for both of us. I can feel it.

Maybe if we stay on the Hypnocil and don't dream, we'll be safe. If that's how he can get to you, and the Hypnocil keeps you from dreaming, than _maybe_ we'll be safe.

**Thursday, July 5th**

They let me out of the hospital today. I think I convinced them that I don't know anything about F.K. and that I'm just a confused, depressed teenage girl who's been to hell and back over the past seven months. Doc McCoy sent me off with a nice big packet of pills to keep me calm and keep me from being so depressed.

There's Hypnocil in there too.

Now that I'm out of the hospital and feeling less...boxed in, I've been thinking about the facts here.

Sure, the dream demon stuff _kinda_ fits, but isn't it more likely that it's the medications? Ever since I started the meds I've been having the dreams...

But there again, the Hypnocil _keeps_ me from dreaming...so if there wasn't any credence to the story, why would they be giving the stuff to me?

I've got to know if it's real. I'll go mad if I don't know for sure.


	22. Chapter 22

**Friday, July 13th**

I took the car today and drove all the way to Cincinatti. Almost two hundred miles to get to a library that I consider to be a decent size for my purposes. This dream demon stuff is next to impossible to track down.

I don't like what I found out.

If this is true (and I'm getting to the point where I _really_ believe it is), then I'm royally screwed. In the dream world, he's got more power than you can shake a stick at and for him, killing anyone who invades his realm is like shooting fish in a barrel.

No, like shooting fish in a fishbowl is more accurate. It's _that_ simple for him.

It's amazing how quickly something that seems like fiction can become fact so quickly.

There's a part of me that's still doubtful, but there's another, tiny, insistent part that _knows_ this whole thing is true. It's a crazy explanation, but it's the only one that fits.

Mom is pissed that I took the car, but I told her that I needed some time alone to think. I left before dawn and got back shortly after she woke up, so I was able to convince her I'd only gone a few miles away to lookout point where I could get some peace and quiet.

**July 18th**

The Hypnocil isn't working any more diary. I dreamed of him again last night.

Now not even the medication can keep me safe.

He was a lot less...inviting...than he's been the past few times.

Angrier. Like he was out to get me.

I know I'm next.

I tried telling mom what I found out about the dream demons and she looked at me like I needed another stint in the hospital. I made a quick save by passing it off as a movie I caught on tv last night, and I think she bought it.

At least she hasn't called Doctor McCoy about this...

_Yet_.

I can't even trust my mother. I'm starting to feel really paranoid, diary.

Who am I kidding 'starting to'. I've _been_ paranoid since the day Terry 'killed herself'.

I can't trust anyone.

Can I even trust _you_ diary? What would these pages say if you could talk?

Would you talk? Would you betray my confidence 'for my own good'?

I know mom would...I'm not even going to try and tell her anything.

**July 28th**

I'm sleeping in shifts lately, diary. Two hours at a time. I read that that's how you can keep from slipping into dream state.

I still don't feel safe.

You know...it's funny. Even though I'm doing all of this, there's still a crazy little piece of me that thinks this is all insane. That it's nothing but the medication.

I'm not screwed up, the meds made me that way!

Hahahahaha.

Here's a fact I bet you didn't know, diary. Not going into dream state makes for very, _very_ unsatisfying sleep.

I've slept eight hours a night total since my last entry and I don't feel at _all_ rested.

Mad? Yes, I feel absolutely off my rocker, but I don't feel rested.

It's like when you chug a whole bottle of Jolt! cola and eat a bunch of pixie sticks. My heart is constantly in my mouth, my chest feels like it's caving in and I just don't give a fuck anymore.

It's actually freeing.

**I _think_ it's the last day of July...I don't know...**

I'm going to sleep. I'm just too tired to fight it anymore. I've got a pile of those little green tranquilizers Doctor McCoy kept shoving at me and I'm going to take some.

I'm not going to kill myself, just take enough to knock me out and make me sleep solid because I have to see _him_.

I have to know if he's really a figment of my imagination or if there's something more to it than that.

I can't take not knowing if it's my meds or my mind.

I know the stories...I know I might not make it back. If I'm right and he's real, there's a good chance he'll kill me. I know that. I'm ready for that, I think. I just can't live my life without knowing for sure if I'm crazy or not.

I'm going to hide you, diary, under the floor board in the attic where I found his picture, and if I don't write again...

I don't want to think about 'if I don't write again'. I'm more comfortable with thinking of it as an obscure concept rather than a serious possibility.

I'm scared, diary. Not scared of _him_, but scared that I might wake up and find out it really _is_ all an illusion and that I'm just going insane.

Aunt Sophie was insane, you know...they put her away in a hospital and everything. Maybe I took after her.

The grandfather clock downstairs just chimed one. Mom should be asleep...she came in at eleven and went to bed a little while later, so knowing her sleeping patterns, she's sleeping hard by now.

I guess it's now or never.

Diary...if I _don't_ wake up again and if someone finds you...to the person who reads this.

I have no idea what to tell you...you've read the story. You know what's happened to me. I can't think of any grand, wise words to share with you. I wish I had more to leave as my mark on the Earth, but this is it. This little notebook full of thoughts is my only legacy and I just don't have anything else I can tell you that will help you if you've been unfortunate enough to find it. I'm sorry I can't help you, but I can warn you.

Get out of this house. Get the hell out of this town. Forget you ever read the name Freddy Krueger and go live your life somewhere else. Anywhere but here. Go to Timbuktu for all I care, just get out of Springwood. **NOW**.

I haven't found a way to combat him if he _is_ real, so if you've already come up against him, you'll have to look elsewhere for help. I got nothin'. If you haven't come in contact with him, leave as fast as you can before you're _really_ an Elm street kid. Please. Don't let my life count for nothing.

I don't have anything else to tell you...but I do have a favor to ask.

Wish me luck.

----

A/N: And so it ends. I didn't make my goal of 20,000 words (oh well..maybe next time), but I _did_ manage to finish it in less than a month.

What happened to Andie? Well...you found her diary and read it, draw your own conclusions. Hell, there's a challenge. Write what happened to her if you want to. What hapened between she and Krueger when they finally _really_ met face to face.

If you read it and reviewed it, I thank thee. If you read it and didn't review it: You bastards...


	23. Epilogue

The tattered, faded photograph of Fred Krueger fluttered to the ground as the girl who had been kneeling on the dusty attic floor slammed the small pink and purple notebook shut.

Sharon Andrews, a fourteen year old slip of a redhead, had spent the past fifteen minutes flipping feverishly from page to page of the diary, reading Andie O'Neill's story from beginning to end in abject horror.

It had started out as curiosity.

After all, it's human nature to be curious about a crumpled shoebox hidden underneath an attic floorboard.

It's human nature to open the box and sift through the items within.

It's human nature to pick up the small, glitter covered book inside and start reading.

And while it _began_ as simple curiosity, it blossomed into more.

The goose pimples that had risen up on her arms beneath her shirt had nothing to do with the draft in the attic and everything to do with the chilling tale she'd just finished reading.

"Sharon?"

Sharon shook herself out of her thoughts and turned towards the source of the voice.

Her mother was calling her from downstairs.

"Come on, Sharon! We're leaving."

The young girl quickly restored the shoebox's contents and stuffed it back under the floorboard where it belonged.

"Coming!" She called, shifting the floorboard back into place where it had been before, careful to make certain that it was still slightly out of place so that the next person who came to look at the Elm Street house would trip over it the way she had and find the diary.

After all, it was what Andie had wanted. After reading her ordeal, Sharon felt that she owed the girl she'd never laid eyes on at _least_ that much.

Sharon cautiously descended from the attic, brushed herself off so that no one could tell she'd spent the past little while knee deep in dust, and then made her way downstairs to where her mother was chatting with the realtor.

"Well, we're not absolutely sure about where we want to move _just_ yet, so we're doing a lot of-" Mrs. Andrews turned to look at her daughter, who had plastered on a smile for Miss Smith's benefit, "Oh! Sharon, there you are."

"Have a nice look around?" the bubbly blonde in the bright green blazer asked cheerfully.

"Uh...yeah," Sharon answered, trying to match the blonde's pep and passing with effort, "Nice roomy bedrooms."

Sharon barely heard her mother as she completed the pleasantries with Miss Smith, she was too distracted with thoughts of what had happened to Andie.

Had she survived? Did they lock her up again? Did she move out of Springwood?

Was she...?

Sharon didn't want to think about it. She couldn't bring herself to think about it. Andie wasn't all that much older than she was when all of it had happened to her and it just hit too close to home.

Before Sharon knew it, she and her mother were making their way down the front porch, down the walk and finally to the street where her mother's green Honda was waiting.

She piled inside it and felt marginally more secure when she slipped under her seatbelt and shut the door.

The car started up and began pulling away, Sharon's mother thinking her own thoughts for a few minutes before she spoke.

"What did you think of it?" Mrs. Andrews asked, glancing at her teenage daughter, who was staring out of the passenger side window at the waving form of the cheery realtor who was standing in front of 1428 Elm, pretending that nothing was wrong with the house she was trying to sell.

"I didn't like it," Sharon said, a shiver passing through her shoulders that she couldn't control, "I don't like Springwood at all..._especially_ not Elm street."

Sharon didn't hear her mother as she spoke about the fact that there were too many drawbacks to moving to Springwood anyway and it was better to move to Cincinnati or some other larger city. There was a part of her that understood that what her mother was saying meant she didn't have to move into the horrible Elm Street house, but there was a bigger part that just wanted to cry for the girl who had lived there before.

Knowing full well that the diary she had just finished reading was a good ten years old and that the author's fate was sealed long ago, Sharon touched the window, breath fogging up the glass and whispered to the girl who would never hear her, "Good luck, Andie."

-

As the little green Honda rolled out of sight, the smiling realtor Miss Smith let her mask of cheer slip out of place.

They weren't going to buy. She could tell. The daughter didn't really like the place...it was plain to see.

Miss Smith sighed heavily and walked back up towards the house to lock it up. She'd had been trying to sell the place for close to ten years and had been completely unsuccessful. She would go through the motions, show the house, let the kids go check out the place on their own so that she could speak with their parents...

All successful realty 101 tactics...all meant to sell a house in seconds flat.

For some reason, after every grand tour, the prospective buyer's children would ultimately dislike it for some reason that had cropped up out of the blue and couldn't be explained.

It wasn't that Miss Smith was a bad realtor...she was _very_ good at her job.

Instead, it was the fact that almost every teenager who was allowed to poke around the place wound up in the attic, tripping over that exact same floorboard, reading that exact same diary, and then replaced everything the way it had been when they found it so that the next one to come up there after them would see what they had seen.

It was a quiet ritual and none of the teenagers who had completed it could tell you _why_ they did it, other than the fact they felt they owed Andie. They owed it to her to make sure that others found her story and understood what moving into this house entailed.

It was a silent agreement between them; Andie's diary had shown that the adults of Springwood couldn't be trusted. It was up to the children to preserve the diary and protect those that came into the house after them.

Andie left more of a legacy than she would ever know

-

A/N: I know, I know…but I couldn't stop myself from giving it a proper ending. Andie's fate is _still_ a mystery, but the fate of the house on 1428 Elm isn't. It's got a semi-happy ending.

Apparently, I can't leave things totally _unhappy_.

And now I've ended this on an uneven chapter number…that's going to bother me x.x


End file.
